Worth It
by Kat Warrior1
Summary: Oneshot. Sometimes the trials of one can lead to hope for another.


It was meant to be a simple enough mission. Enter the enemy's factory and then leave so the explosives could finish the job. For one Spriggan it was easy. For two it should have been like entry-level training.

"Sixty seconds!" Ominae announced to the blond man who standing guard. He didn't need to be told twice. The two bolted for the bay door. The forest beyond the dirt road leading into the building was waiting with open arms to conceal them from enemy eyes.

But it seemed the door, or at least those controlling it, had other ideas. It began to make its decent towards the cement floor and soldiers started pouring into the warehouse. Yu cursed and the two of them ran faster still, sliding at the last moment and making it under the door by a hair.

Or rather, not making it under the door _due to_ hair. Ominae would have continued running for the forest assuming Jean was with him had he not heard the older man grunt and swear.

In any other circumstance, Jean's predicament would have been hilarious. He was still on his back in the dirt, as his lengthy, pale-golden hair was caught under the door. It had grown a lot over the past few years and was down to his waist – not so harmless as when it had only been a few inches beyond his shoulders.

"Get going, I'll be fine," he grumbled as he tugged at the stubborn locks. Yu crouched to help him just as the sound of footsteps reached his ears. With great annoyance, he stood to face the enemies nearing them.

While Yu was busy keeping his friend from being shot, Jean was occupied jamming the barrel of his gun in between the door and the ground. Using the strength he was rather grateful for and the gun for leverage, he managed to lift the door just enough to slide his hair out and then shoot down the last enemy.

No words were exchanged as the two bolted again, this time their strides being interrupted by the earth-shaking explosion of the factory.

Jean couldn't remember the last time he wanted to lie during a report. Yamamoto had agreed to let him grow his hair on one condition – that it didn't cause problems on missions. If being stuck under a heavy door wasn't a problem, Jean didn't know what was.

"So you two nearly died because you like your hair long?" Yamamoto asked darkly. Jean bit his lip and glanced off to the side at... nothing, really. The middle-aged Japanese man hadn't needed to lecture him for anything in years. He hadn't enjoyed it as a teen and certainly wasn't enjoying it now.

"Remember our agreement, Jean."

"I'm having it cut this afternoon," he sighed.

A nod from his boss. "You're also going to spend the next week doing night watch for the base here in Australia." Jean bit his lip harder to hold back a complaint. He was old enough to know better. Besides, further provoking an already angry Yamamoto wasn't wise. He could end up having to scrub the bathrooms, too.

Instead, he responded with a simple "Yes, Sir."

Yamamoto seemed to be as satisfied as he could be. "You're dismissed."

Jean subconsciously reached over his shoulder and fondled the considerably shorter ponytail for the hundredth time. His whole head felt lighter and the absence of the feeling of hair bouncing against his back was odd. But shorter though it was, at least it was still there, pulled back neatly and resting about four inches below his shoulders.

The bell on the door gave an amiable ring as he stepped into the small business suite, a large envelope tucked under his arm. The young woman behind the counter smiled warmly as he entered and asked if she could assist him.

"I'm here to drop off this," he told her, placing the envelope casually in front of her. It was then that two more people entered – a young, depressed looking mother and a girl who appeared to be around five years old. Jean noticed that she was rather pale and unhealthy looking. And had beautiful blond hair.

"I'll let you take care of them," Jean offered the employee, stepping aside. Both she and the mother nodded gratefully.

"I'm here to order a wig for my daughter," the mother sighed. She's starting chemo therapy, but she still wants pretty blond hair.

"Like his..." the child added quietly as she gazed at Jean.

The Spriggan winced. He could think of several battle wounds that weren't as painful as the look of longing on that innocent face.

"Well," the girl behind the counter began with a smile, "It just so happens that he has left some here for you." She opened the envelope and carefully pulled out the neatly cut and wrapped soft, sunshine-colored hair.

The child's eyes widened with disbelieving joy. Tears began to moisten her mother's face, but she didn't notice. She was bounding up to Jean with energy she had lacked only minutes ago. He crouched to be at her eye-level, as she had been looking up at him with expectant excitement.

He was rather startled when two small, thin arms curled around his strong neck. Once his mind registered that he was being hugged, he awkwardly placed an arm around her back, and allowed himself a genuine smile – something that didn't happen often.

The soft, sweet voice whispered a "thank you," before the child's mother called her back, and thanked him as well. He gave her a sincere "you're welcome," before leaving, but as far as he was concerned, he'd received all the thanks he had needed. And for some reason, the week of long nights that awaited him didn't seem so bad...

END.

Author notes: This isn't really related to this story but yes, I took "Origin Theory" down. I lost interest in it, and wasn't enjoying it at all. If you're going to write as a hobby, I think it should be enjoyable. But at any rate, I hope you enjoyed this little story.


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